


Loaded

by wreathed



Category: Queer as Folk (UK)
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Post-Series, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 23:27:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4118617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreathed/pseuds/wreathed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Filling in the gaps around QaF2's final scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loaded

They have been living furiously.

Stuart in particular, as though he expected to die young and in a blaze of glory. Like John Lennon or River Phoenix or any of them, you know, Stuart is fond of saying. Vince says there’s no glory if you’re gay and you die young; they’re all only thinking of one thing. Freddie Mercury, Vince says, but Stuart just laughs like 1991 was a very long time ago.

And yet here they are, somewhere nowhere in Nebraska, Stuart’s sizable bank account looking less healthy than it once had, their ninety-day-no-visa limit getting closer and Stuart’s still here, still living, clear as day. The pound of blood; Stuart is Vince’s, at last.

*

“Do you know how rare it is to find someone you can spend most of your time with without going mental? That’s worth more than a shag.”

“You need blood. Hammering through your veins.” Stuart says. The first stab of attraction – Vince hadn’t even known what it was then, not really – he has felt when seeing Stuart, fourteen years old and already perfect; it has been a while. They must have covered everything they’d ever wanted to talk about in all the time they’ve known each other, but it still feels like there’s more to say. That’s worth something as well, isn’t it?

“It’s not an either or,” Vince says bravely. “You can have both. Some people do.”

Vince has been brave much more often than usual in America, now there’s none of their friends around to make fun of him.

(Stuart still makes fun of him, of course, but Vince is used to that.)

*

They’re in the car again.

“Where to next? How long until San Francisco?”

“Change of plan,” says Stuart. “Utah.”

“Utah? With you being… you? We’ll get buried alive! Those Mormons, they probably do that.”

“Exactly,” says Stuart. “Together forever.”

“I can’t work out whether you’ve got some serious death wish or if you’re just being dramatic.”

“I’d be happy,” Stuart says quietly (Stuart never says anything quietly). “If I died now. ‘Cos we’ve finally fucked.”

“It’s not just that.” Reducing everything to blood again.

“We had every other part of a long-term relationship already,” Stuart reminds him. “The exclusive shagging is the most important bit.”

“Just don’t forget,” says Vince. “You’re already too old for the 27 club. You’ll have to settle down eventually,” and for that Stuart turns the next corner so fast Vince feels as if he’s going to get thrown out of his seat.

*

Utah it is, then. A gun it is perfectly legal for Stuart to purchase and carry. It gets brandished, but not fired, at a gas station a few hours later.

“Chekhov would have wanted blood,” Stuart says with a twisted little smile, “but I’m not _that_ stupid.”

“The ensign bloke from Star Trek?” Vince says. “Didn’t know you watched it,” and Stuart _laughs_ at him.

Holding hands, fucking the hick off. It had been satisfying.

(The frenzied motel shagging’s satisfying too, bullets still loaded just in case.)

Their visa waiver runs out. They get pulled over for a broken taillight and they should get deported, but the cop either likes men or the Irish or both because Stuart gets them out clean as a whistle.

And they stay and they stay and they stay.

*

“So, when do we go back?” Vince asks. “When we’ve crossed coast to coast? When we’ve seen every state? When we’re allowed to marry each other in Alabama?”

“Marriage!” Stuart huffs. “You’ve got to stop wanting to be straight, Vince.”

“Right, yeah,” Stuart says. “Marriage. Can imagine your finger itching on the trigger.”

“I dunno when we go back,” Stuart says, insouciant, and why does Vince love getting _annoyed_ by him so much?

“When we completely run out of money? When my bloody mother flies over, carjacks us and drives us to McCarran?“

We carry on until there’s something worth going back to,” Stuart, the outline of him backed by a blinding blood red sunset. “But what I’ve been trying to show you this entire time – a point you have been missing completely, by the way, you fucking idiot – is that doesn’t have to be up to me. Where do _you_ want to go?”

Vince shrugs. “You go somewhere, I follow.”

“Ah Vince,” grins Stuart, “but what if it was me following you all this time?” 

Stuart gives him a big sloppy kiss, floors the pedal, and they’re flying again.


End file.
